User blog:Squibstress/Epithalamium - Chapter 2
Title: Epithalamium Author: Squibstress Rating: MA Genre: Drama, romance Warning/s: Explicit sexual situations; teacher-student relationship (of-age); language, violence Published: 23/05/2017 Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements from the Harry Potter franchise belong to J. K. Rowling. Chapter Two “Really, my dear, ''Thysania agrippina?”'' “Is it not appropriate, Professor?” When Minerva owled her father to say that she would not be returning home for Christmas, he tried not to let her hear his disappointment in his reply. He knew how much Animagus training meant to his daughter, and Thorfinn McGonagall had never been a man to put his own feelings ahead of his children’s ambitions. Minerva’s younger brother, Einar, at least, had already owled from Beauxbatons, where he was taking a year’s exchange, to say he would be arriving home the following weekend. Thorfinn resigned himself to seeing just one of his children over the holidays. It was a harbinger of things to come, he thought wistfully. Minerva was eighteen and would leave school the following June. He harboured no illusions that she would come home to Caithness to live with her long-widowed father; she was a bright, ambitious girl and had already expressed a wish to apply for an internship with the Auror office in London. He wanted her to fulfil her dreams, even at the cost of his own loneliness. Besides, it would be another four years before Einar was ready to leave the nest, and Thorfinn had an idea that his son would settle closer to home. Einar McGonagall was bright too, but not especially ambitious. His intelligence was made manifest in quieter, less spectacular ways than his sister’s. He could discuss science, philosophy, and history as well as she, but he shied away from debate, whereas she tended to leap in eagerly, loving to challenge others’ ideas and have her own challenged in turn. Einar was opal to Minerva’s diamond, thought Thorfinn, no less rare and beautiful, but less sharply faceted and glittering, and consequently, less valued by some. Opals were more delicate and required gentler handling, whereas diamonds would scratch anything that came too close. This was a thought that sometimes kept Thorfinn up at night. His beautiful, brilliant daughter could sometimes be too hard for her own good. He wondered how much of it was innate and how much was his fault. He had always asked a great deal of her, and her growing up without a mother to soften the edges of his expectations had no doubt left its traces. He wrote: We’ll miss you, of course, but I am very proud of you, as always. This is a wonderful opportunity for you, so I’ll try not to begrudge Professor Dumbledore your company, seeing as the man is giving up his own holiday to help you get started on this adventure. Please thank him on my behalf. Your loving, Da ~oOo~ “Cross-species Transfiguration is one of the most difficult feats you will attempt in this class,” Professor Dumbledore was saying. “It requires you to focus on several complex intentions at the same time: at the cellular level, the anatomical level, and the morphological level. The more complex the organism, the more difficult the Transfiguration. I think we’ll start with something simple, but not too simple. Can’t have you all Transfiguring the spattergroit fungus into dragon pox virus, now can we?” he asked, grinning. “Mr Damocles, if you would help me distribute these beetles, I would be most obliged.” When each N.E.W.T student had a beetle, Dumbledore continued: “I trust you all read the chapter on arthropods, so you have a basic understanding of the parts. I am going to ask you each to attempt to Transfigure your beetle into a moth.” The students looked around at one another doubtfully. “Species and colouration your choice, of course,” he joked, casting a quick look at Minerva. He had an inkling she would be the only student to accomplish it by the end of the day’s class. In the event, he was wrong. She accomplished it on the first try. While several other students eventually managed to eliminate the elytra from their beetles to uncover their flight wings after several attempts, when Albus came to her desk, Minerva took up her wand, narrowed her eyes at her beetle, then flicked her wand, saying, “''Mutatio Lepidopteram.”'' The next moment found her staring contentedly at a medium-sized moth, around six inches in wingspan. Albus had half expected a showy demonstration of her prowess, resulting in one of the brightly coloured species of moth—say a crimson-speckled moth or Madagascan sunset moth—but what appeared on Minerva’s desk was a much subtler display of skill and wit. Albus could not prevent a chuckle from escaping his lips. He leant down toward Minerva and whispered, “Really, my dear, Thysania agrippina?” “Is it not appropriate, Professor?” she asked with a sly smile. “Indeed, it is. But doesn’t the white witch moth usually come in a slightly larger size?” “Yes, but I didn’t want to distract the other students,” she said. What she had done was infinitely more difficult than a straight Transfiguration. To change a creature’s size as well as its species required skill and knowledge that was beyond many masters and mistresses of Transfiguration. The fact that she had chosen to make the moth smaller rather than larger suggested her desire to show off only for her teacher, on whom she could count to know the proper size of the species of moth she had produced. It was utterly like her, he thought''.'' White witch, indeed. The alabaster-coloured wings with the almost-black markings were a perfect metaphor for Minerva McGonagall’s pale, Celtic skin and dark hair. The delicacy of the moth’s pattern was reflected in her fine features—the thin brows, the narrow, patrician nose, and the thin lips, all framed by high cheekbones. There was nothing extraordinary about her face, except perhaps her great green eyes, ringed by a fringe of coal-black lashes. Her beauty lay in how her features fell together in a lovely not-quite symmetry, as if her face reflected both her rational mind and its unusual twists. This was part of what made Minerva so good at Transfiguration, Albus thought. She put an enormous amount of care and intention into every one, but the seemingly effortless way her mind made connections and patterns between things was unique in his experience. This was a form of magic all too rare in pure-bloods, he mused. So insular was wizarding society that it tended to crush the kind of soaring, thirsty inquisitiveness that Thorfinn McGonagall had recognised and, fortunately, encouraged in his daughter. Albus hoped he would get to thank the man one day. As was his habit, he didn’t make a fuss over Minerva’s achievement. He simply pointed out to the class that she had managed it, and opined that, with practice, each of them would as well. Nobody was especially surprised that that swot McGonagall had done it first. At the end of the lesson period, he had a student gather the beetles—all in various states of transformation—into a box. When the students had gone, he set about methodically Transfiguring them back into beetles for use the next time. He did not, however, Transfigure Minerva’s moth. Instead, he conjured a small glass cage containing a thin Cassia branch. He put the moth into the cage and placed it on his desk. When classes had ended for the day, he took the moth to his private quarters and placed it on the side table next to his favourite reading chair in his sitting room. He kept it there for three days before he released it to the winds from his bedroom window in Gryffindor Tower. ← Back to Chapter 1 On to Chapter 3→ Category:Chapters of Epithalamium